Driving down to the airport, the nervous queasy feeling grew and grew. By the time we arrived, I’d quite happily have turned around and sat in traffic for another 4 hours rather than face the security queues and the stress of flying 12 hours with a toddler on my own.
I was prepared, I had the bare minimum in my hand luggage. Only, the bare minimum when you’re flying with a toddler is quite a lot. Here’s what I’d brought:
nappies
wipes
changing mat
extra vests
extra tights
extra outfits (all in case of catastrophe or flight delay)
small pyjamas
tiny cardigan (because it gets cold on the plane)
book with pictures of baby animals
stuffed giraffe
blankie
clean knickers for me
change of outfit for me
I put Hope in her buggy for check in. Joy of joys, the lovely lady on the desk was far less terrifying than her red lipstick and slicked back hair led me to believe. She blocked out the seat on the plane next to me. As the flight was fairly quiet, she also confirmed that the baby was small enough still to have a sky cot.
Duly checked in, we headed toward security. I needed to go to the toilet and Hope needed a nappy change. The required facilities were in two different places (Why, oh, why, do they not have a lavatory in the baby changing room?) Hope required a full body change, which meant that spare outfit number one was used up. I had to bury a bag of grubby clothes at the bottom of the backpack (note make sure you always carry lots of emergency plastic bags). With Hope cleaned up, we trailed into the ‘Ladies’ only to find that there was hardly enough room for the pushchair to go into the cubicle.
Flustered, we emerged back into the main terminal and found a massive queue on the way through security. I put Hope in the baby carrier and put my hand luggage into the pushchair. Last year, I’d seen organised mothers sail through security carrying babies as I’d battled to hold her and collapse the buggy at the same time. We joined the queue, Hope was cheerfully kicking me in the stomach as she looked round saying, “hello” to the other passengers. We got to the scanning area and I took off my shoes, collapsed the pushchair, got out my laptop and put everything on the scanning trays. They told me I couldn’t carry Hope through in the (all material) baby carrier. I got hot and sweaty just taking it off. I developed butter fingers and couldn’t undo the bow at the front and I felt everyone’s eyes boring into me – the annoying woman with the baby holding up the line.
We made it through the scanner and then I was told my bag needed to be emptied; I’d forgotten I had a tiny tiny tube of nappy cream in the backpack. Clutching Hope, I lifted the pushchair off the conveyor belt and battled to open it. The normally simple mechanism conspired against me and all the rest of my possessions piled up in a mountain of plastic trays and threatened to fall onto the floor. Hope started to struggle and shout. I was nearly in tears when I finally managed to open it; she was hysterical when I sat her down. “Hope walk, walk, WALK!” I pleaded. I looked at the ground red-faced and embarrassed, and also slightly cross that nobody had offered to help.
I fumbled round putting shoes back on, stuffing everything back into the bag and folding the carry pouch. I’d walked a few steps away when a security guard called after me. “You forgot these,” motioning toward my laptop, phone and camera. I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful, or mortified. I grabbed them and we stumbled over to an area with chairs so I could sort myself out. I fed Hope for a little while. (Thank goodness I’m still breastfeeding, I really don’t know how people manage with hungry small folk when they have to worry about bottles and powder). Feeling restored and calm, with Hope back in the carry pouch, I headed into duty- free area to buy a present.
I was in the makeup department looking at baby sun cream when a loud rumbling noise occurred – it was Hope. Nappy explosion number two. The lipstick ladies looked disapprovingly at us as we dashed out to find another changing area. We got there, I untied the carry pouch, released Hope and undressed her. Another full outfit change was needed and another bag of dirty clothes added to the bottom of the rucksack. I tied Hope back into the carry pouch, and headed out. It was only when I got to the shop counter with a bottle of water that I realised I’d left my backpack in the changing area. I ran back to get it, by now in floods of tears, convinced I’d lost everything apart from the two bags of dirty clothes. Thankfully, the bag hadn’t been stolen or blown up as abandoned suspicious luggage.
When we eventually reached the departure gate I must have looked like an illegal alien. The same lipsticky lady who had previously been so kind on check-in now looked me up and down and said I should fold the pushchair and leave it at the top of the stairs. I flopped down in the waiting area and released Hope who had a very happy run around. (I figured it was better to let her burn off a little energy before the flight.) Then we were called to get on board, which meant putting her back in the carry pouch, which annoyed her. She kicked me hard in the tummy all the way down the ramp and along the crowed aisle to our seat.
A lovely air host helped me with my backpack. I managed to liberate my wriggling kicking small person and plonked her on the seat in front of me with a sigh of relief. She had other ideas and immediately stood up and pulled off the white piece of material protecting the head rest. She threw it over the top into the face of a very severe looking man in a suit. “Sorry,” I said for the first time on the flight. By the time the flight took off, I think I must have said, “sorry” about 30 more times. To him, to the mother at the other end of our little row and to the various passengers Hope was attempting to climb up to. As we took off (her in the absurdly inadequate looking baby seat belt which looped onto my own), she was singing “Horsey Horsey” and beaming.
The seatbelt sign went off, they bought the sky cot, I fed Hope, and strapped her in for a nap. She fell straight to sleep. I sat back with a sigh, and the lovely air steward gave me an airline cocktail. “Hurrah,” I thought, “this is going to be a great flight,” Twenty minutes later, there was that familiar ‘bing bong’ sound, and the voice came through. “The captain has found it necessary to turn on the seatbelt sign.” Hope was strapped in securely and sleeping so I relaxed and closed my eyes. The host came over and informed me that she needed to be strapped back onto my lap; I thought I’d manage to keep her asleep. No, this did not happen. She woke up, and that was it!
For the whole flight between London Heathrow and Los Angeles International Airport, Hope slept for no more than one-half an hour. No cocktails, no movies, no rest. Just toddler containment. She didn’t cry, but she walked around and around her little circuit. Up the aisle to the crew area at the back of the plane. Round to the other side, then down the aisle. Through the kitchen area in front of where we were seating. In the end, it felt as if we had walked the whole way to California. Most people were very kind; she beamed and said “hello” to anyone who would make eye contact. She insisted on saying the same “hello” to everyone on the circuit. And when they didn’t meet her steely gaze, she’d bend down in front of them with her hands on her knees and look up at them and say, “hello, Hello, HELLO!” until they did. I don’t think I’ve ever said sorry more times in any 12-hour period! Ever.
The one bonus (apart from not getting DVT due to the amount of exercise), was that she honed in on one particular group of dashing young men. At first I was horrified, and came out with a litany of “sorry’s.” Hope then copied me and said sorry to each of them. I wanted to reach for a parachute and escape the plane. But, something lovely happened – they started to talk to her. “They” were three-mid 30s single guys all getting over break ups and off to see a friend in LA and learn to surf, go walking and enjoy some sun. Every circuit she made, Hope stopped to say hello. Each time, they chatted to her. After about 5 hours of circuits, it felt as if they were my younger brothers. And when Hope had introduced them to her giraffe, had long chats with them and had one of them singing, “Row, Row, Row the Boat,” they offered to entertain her while I had something to eat.
By the time we reached LAX, Hope got very cross when I made her come and sit with me and rather plaintively called out their names in a, “come and rescue me from my mother” kind of way.
We landed, and she started singing. I put her in the carry pouch, put my back pack on and made my way to passport control. The long queue didn’t seem too bad as Hope had spotted her three musketeers and was waving and calling to them in a way that made the entire line of jet lagged travel weary souls cheer up.
We went through to baggage reclaim, I felt rather smug, I had everything organised and knew to go to pick up the pushchair, first. Only trouble was that the pushchair was nowhere to be seen. My smugness evaporated as I saw our huge suitcases going round on the increasingly lonely journey on the carousel. Thankfully, one of Hope’s gang of three appeared at my side and offered to get the cases for me while I hunted for the buggy. The guys piled up our heavy cases on the trolley and waited patiently for us as Hope sat up in her pushchair, rather like the Queen arriving in State!
We’d come up with a plan to flummox our friends – one of the three would push Hope through the arrivals gate, I was to walk in between the other two. I knew Hope’s godmother would be intrigued and they said the arriving friend would be flabbergasted to see his mates arrive with a baby, and an older woman!! Sadly our plans were foiled when both friends were stuck in traffic, but it did make us chuckle.
Our lift arrived, we said a fond farewell and headed to our California home-from-home.
So, here’s my advice: top tips for travelling with a toddler on your own. Take several changes of outfit for both of you, don’t forget the nappy bags and find someone to help you on the plane … and, relish the (few!) moments of peace!